


Asking, for a Friend

by dvske



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, In which Beau is a literal lesbian disaster and her friends all know it, Meet-Cute, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: Beau’s never had trouble asking for a cute stranger’s name before, but somehow the blue-haired barista at the Nestled Nook proves to be the exception.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	Asking, for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought, after three years of not writing, I'd come back with a goddamn coffee shop AU. Yet here we are. This got way longer than was probably necessary, but fuck it.
> 
> Written for [Femslash February 2020](https://dvske.co.vu/post/190483722517/).

“Believe it or not, you could just go up and talk to her.”

Fjord, ever matter-of-fact. Ever sensible. Ever _patronizing_ , much to Beau’s mounting irritation. He hadn’t even bothered glancing up from his laptop, still typing away without pause or care. Beau chewed at the inside of her cheek in response, her brows furrowed and fingers drumming restlessly atop the table as she tore her gaze away (yet again) from the ordering counter. She slouched in her seat, forced herself to read the textbook splayed open before her. A futile attempt, she knew. She never got any reading done.

Admittedly, reading was never the point of her being there.

The Nestled Nook. A cozy sanctuary tucked along one urban strip of faddy juice bars, over-cramped bookstores, tourist sinkholes and three-star restaurants all vying for attention. Attention well-earned, it seemed, based on the constant hum-bustle of traffic and bodies on the move. The café sat nestled in the busiest blend of Soltryce Academy buildings and its surrounding cityscape, after all. Still, in terms of campus hangouts, the Nook usually won out.

See, students didn’t necessarily flock there for its coffee (pure, robust heaven) or the food (a homemade taste worth dying for). Nor was it the promise of free wi-fi and lively, if a bit cluttered, atmosphere. It wasn’t even the fact that the Nook stayed open well past midnight, should one need or choose to stay so long.

No. The main draw was the art. The aesthetic. Quaint yet bold, while so much of the city’s architecture stood plain and tall and boringly pragmatic. Nestled Nook, far more colorful than its counterparts and loaded with whimsical charm. Chalk drawings lined every inch of its brick walls, inside and out, while fluorescent marker doodles illuminated the windows. Everywhere, nothing but abstract shapes and bubble letters at play. Nothing but cartoon renderings of animals, plants and various foods in colors that seemed mismatched by design:

Bumbling bees in rosy pinks, crimson spirals in their wake. Cyan roses and jade sunflowers in bloom. Canary-bright grass swaying in a lilac breeze. Lime-colored biscuits, sapphire cookies and cake pops, silver croissants and orange sandwiches. Sparkles and stars, unicorns and birds. Some oddly snake-like weasel (ferret?), stretching its way along the molding. Similar illustrations came custom drawn on every coffee cup whenever orders were placed, each one crafted with great skill and care. All by the same barista found flitting behind the counter now.

The very same barista that had caught Beau’s eye when she first stumbled upon this place in a sleep-deprived stupor. She’d needed a triple shot strong enough to help her power through her Classics II paper, but she found herself charmed instead by this bubbly art and warm surroundings.

She hadn’t expected wanting to stay.

She hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly taken by the technicolor, sharpie explosion on her drink, her name in the barista’s fanciful scrawl.

She certainly hadn’t expected to be just as smitten by the artist in question, watching as the barista carefully decorated and delivered Beau’s drink with a dimpled grin. A cheery voice, each vowel playfully stretched out.

_“Order for Beau-re-gard~”_

Then, _good god_ , those eyes.

How was Beau ever supposed to contend with that?

Before long, she’d found herself drawn to the Nook every time she needed a place of study or reprieve. It was part of her routine at this point. Wake up and knock out a quick morning jog or workout. Grab whatever served as passable breakfast before subjecting herself to her morning lectures and last-minute assignments. Then, blissful downtime at the Nook, especially on Wednesdays when she just had one class followed by ample free time. She studied at the Nook. She read at the Nook. She wasted away entire afternoons at Nook, all while _definitely_ not at all checking out the blue-haired barista from afar.

Beau still didn’t know her name.

Yet there she was, never far from view. Lady Mystery, as Beau deemed her, was manning the café all by herself today. Even from this far corner, huddled at the table nearest the back, Beau could still hear the woman’s singsong voice loud and clear. There was an accent she couldn’t place, a gentle lilt caressing her ears whenever Lady Mystery called out different patrons’ orders.

Beau watched as the woman plucked another plain cup from its tower and set her sharpie to work with a hum and twirl. Sleeves rolled back to reveal surprisingly toned amber arms, silver bracelets and bands jangling. A delicate bob of deep blue hair, tied into a loose bun. Piercings galore in both ears, her septum, her plump lips. A splash of freckles across her round face. Lithe fingers moved with practiced ease, pausing long enough to grab another color from an oversized bin of markers and pens set beside the register. She whistled as she drew, unaware of Beau’s lingering gaze.

Beau was fixated…

“Be. More. Obvious.”

…then startled.

She snapped out of her stupor and found Fjord staring at her with wry amusement.

Shit.

Right.

Beau scowled, remembering herself and suddenly self-conscious. She sank her cheek into her palm, pretending to read. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you dragged me all the way here for moral support, but you’ve yet to go up.”

“I’m not just gonna _go_ up and be that person, Fjord.”

Fjord huffed out a laugh, leaning back and draping an arm over his chair. “The person that orders coffee? In a coffee shop?”

“Ordering and talking.” Beau gestured each option with her hands, weighing them on an invisible scale. “Two different things.”

“Yet you’re afraid to do either.”

“I’m…working up to it.”

“Uh huh.”

He wasn’t wrong. Teasing aside, this was more or less what she’d expected when she invited him. Hadn’t she brought him along in hopes of receiving this very pep talk, this verbal nudge meant to push her into action? Hadn’t she had the same conversation with herself many times before? When had she ever had issues making the first move when a cute face was concerned? She’d done enough flirting and more to last a lifetime.

Yet, this past week alone, it was becoming more of a struggle to look Lady Mystery in the eyes whenever placing an order. Something about the intensity of those blues, the bright energy behind them. Something about the way she said Beau’s name, exaggerated it, as if savoring its very shape and sound.

_“What will it be, miss Beau-re-gard?”_

Beau, panicking, would untangle her tongue just long enough to order something — anything, the first that came to mind — before scurrying off to the farthest table in the room and cursing herself for not asking the barista’s name like she’d intended.

“This wouldn’t be an issue,” Beau muttered to Fjord now, letting her gaze trail over to Lady Mystery once more, “if they had fuckin’ name tags here. She never has one, like… What’s up with that?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

For a moment, that was the only response. Matter-of-fact, stern. Then she heard the familiar groan of wood scraping wood, looked up as Fjord rose from his chair and started marching across the room with the gait of a man on a mission. Too quick, his arrival. Too fluid, his shift from purposeful to lazed easygoing. He crossed his arms and eased them onto the counter, patiently watching the barista prep a drink. It wasn’t until Fjord looked back at Beau and gave a quick wink and sly grin that Beau’s confusion morphed to mild horror. Her heart dropped straight to her gut when Lady Mystery finally spun around and saw Fjord waiting.

_No, no, no. He’s not…_

But he was.

There it was, that instant, smooth-talking mask he managed to don at a moment’s notice. Beau had witnessed him turn on that grin and silver tongue time and again, but it was different now. Not at all in her favor, now... She watched with mouth agape as he wielded both on this unsuspecting woman who leaned towards him, listening intently. Beau held her breath. She couldn’t hear a thing, her ears were ringing so loud.

_What’s he saying?_

What indeed.

For Beau had been so fixated on Lady Mystery’s brightening expression, she hadn’t noticed Fjord pointing towards their table. Not until the barista’s head whipped over, lightning-quick. Blinding blue eyes locked intensely with Beau’s. That dimpled smile broadened in both curiosity and amusement.

Realization.

Oh.

Shit.

Heat cascaded down Beau’s face.

Beau didn’t even bother pretending to read this time. She just snatched up her textbook and held it up to shield her face, sinking as far as possible into her chair. Hoping. Praying. _Screaming_ internally to whatever powers existed to just split a crater in the floor now and swallow her up whole.

A wonder, really, one couldn’t literally die from embarrassment.

Her ears and face felt scorched, so certain she was that Lady Mystery and Fjord were still staring in her direction. Their laughter and subsequent chatter carried, poignant, drawing the attention of some half dozen patrons scattered about the Nook. Beau didn’t dare move. She was too afraid to pry her face away from now crumpled pages. She heard her name sprinkled throughout whatever conversation the pair was having on her behalf, and for a dizzying second, she feared one of them would call out.

But they didn’t. Their voices eventually settled to something quieter, more casual.

Beau waited.

Eternity. Tortuous minutes, before she finally heard Fjord’s familiar footfalls approaching. Wood on wood, his chair shifting once again. His legs playfully kicked at the ones Beau had outstretched beneath the table. There was a dull thud, and Beau lowered her book just enough to glower down at the plate of cookies he’d brought back. M&M smiley faces.

She glared up at him. “Dude. What the fuck?”

He simply grabbed cookie and took a bite. “On the house.”

Oh, yes. Beau could kill him.

She leaned in, jostling the table and seething between gritted teeth, “What did you _say_ to her?”

“Nothing.” Willful ignorance, another gleeful bite. He started typing again.

“Fjord.”

“Go up and ask.”

There was challenge in his voice, a smug grin belying just how pleased he was. She hoped his smirk stretched so wide it cleaved his head in half — but there was nothing for it. He wouldn’t talk, not unless she bit the bullet and subjected herself to whatever seed of social anxiety horror he’d just planted.

Shit.

“These are good,” Fjord muttered between bites, still grinning. “Eat up.”

Beau almost refused but grabbed one despite herself, gave it a terse nibble. Carefully, she chanced a glance towards the counter.

Lady Mystery was still watching, completely unabashed and winking when Beau made eye contact.

Beau couldn’t rip her gaze away fast enough, the cookies suddenly glass shards in her throat. “I…can’t come here anymore.”

Fjord just laughed.

* * *

In the week that followed, Beau avoided the Nook as if her life depended on it. Never mind the fact that she was dying to know what, exactly, Fjord had said. Never mind the fact that she was forced to procure her caffeine fixes from what she considered paltry substitutes. Plain, lackluster cups with her name in messy handwriting. Bland coffee. It was an absolute travesty.

Still.

She simply couldn’t go back and face those blues again. No, not when she was now _painfully_ on Lady Mystery’s radar. Fjord had fucked it up, plain and simple. He took an astonishing level of glee each time Beau lamented losing out on her favorite study spot.

_“Face it, you weren’t there to study anyway.”_

_“No, Fjord. That was kind of the whole point.”_

It’d been so convenient, too. A mere five-minute walk from her dorm, a cutie admired from afar. The comfort of anonymity and being able to come and observe for as long as she pleased without ever being found out. Ruined.

Worse, Fjord still refused to tell Beau the woman’s name.

_“It’s the least you owe you me.”_

_“Just go back and ask.”_

_“Hell no!”_

_“Your loss.”_

So.

Here she was, bitter and holed up in her dorm. Her bed was in its usual disarray, a tangle of slate blue comforter and sheets. A growing pile of clean yet unfolded clothes. A spread of notebooks and binders and bulky texts over which Beau sat hunched with crossed legs that bounced impatiently. She kept attempting (and failing) to reign her focus back from blue, blue, distracting blue. It all seemed so silly, so juvenile. Stupid to fixate, when she had a damned paper to write.

_Still._

Beau blew out an exasperated sigh and leaned back, knitting both hands behind her head. The black cursor on her word document blinked back in silent judgement. Pause. Then she raked her gaze across the room, just barely registering the organized chaos that greeted her.

More clothes and shoes (mostly Beau’s), heavily patterned fabrics and crafts (all Molly’s), either strewn or draped about the floor, their desks, their beds. A cacophony of movie posters and weathered vinyl albums were tacked onto the walls. Poetry books and plays, various Blu-Rays stacked atop the shelves and interspersed by odd trinkets. Colors abound, steeped in the early afternoon light that filtered through beaded curtains. Chatter from passersby outside drifted through the window Beau had cracked open in attempt to drown out the silence. Reminiscent of the Nook’s ambience...

She wondered what Lady Mystery was drawing right now.

“Hard at work, my dear?”

Molly’s voice flooded the room before Beau could get too lost in the thought. He sauntered inside, one arm laden with books and some odd bits of costume he’d been piecing together all week. Beau watched him absently as he kicked off his shoes and slouched the messenger bag off his shoulder with an exaggerated breath. He held a coffee cup in his free hand, raised it to take a drink.

Beau immediately honed in on the telltale sharpie doodles between his fingers. Pink and glittering purple, the faint outline of a name in crisp black.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is that?”

The same bead of irritation she’d felt with Fjord swelled within her when Molly help up a finger in ‘hold please’ fashion and polished off his drink. He smacked his lips once finished, setting the now emptied cup decisively on the nightstand separating his bed from Beau’s.

Beau’s name stood out in bold, black ink. Without a doubt, Lady Mystery’s handiwork.

She snatched the cup, her brow twitching at the sight. “Molly. What is this?”

Molly, smartass that he was, had already turned to sift through the mess on his bed as if he hadn’t the fanciest idea what his roommate was talking about. “Oh, one of those hippy Turmeric lattes you hate so much.”

“No. I mean. Why is _my_ name on it?”

“I was bored, and Fjord told me your little friend was quite the artist.”

“My little friend,” Beau repeated, still processing.

“She’s cute, by the way.” He gave an impish grin before stretching out a lavender blouse for inspection, busying himself with its frills. “Asked about you too.”

“Bullshit.” But Beau’s ears were ringing again, last Wednesday’s incident replaying in her head. If she’d just strangled Fjord when she had the chance, before he started running his fat mouth…

“It’s true.” Molly completely ignored the livid groan Beau buried between her palms. He twirled as he imitated the bubbly accent Beau knew all too well. “Oh, are you friends with my dear sweet _Beau-re-gard?”_

“She does not sound like that.”

“But I’m pretty close.”

Maybe she could just jump out the window. Three stories, high enough to put her out of her misery if she angled it right. Or she could chuck Molly, but he was a slippery bastard when he wanted to be.

Then an even more mortifying thought dawned on her: Molly not only knew this barista’s name now, but would proceed to keep ordering drinks as Beau for the shits and giggles of it all. Just the kind of shamelessness he lived for. He’d be insufferable about it, no matter how Beau responded. Hell, worse than Fjord.

Beau’s groan morphed into a gravelly whine as she dragged hands down her face.

For the briefest moment, she entertained returning to the Nook. Maybe set the record straight, apologize for her embarrassing friends, but...

_Just go talk to her._

No. Absolutely not — but she’d be damned before she dealt with Molly’s nonsense.

Instead, Beau wordlessly started straightening up her bed and stuffing notes and laptop into her backpack. Molly let out a hearty laugh when she hopped up and started getting dressed without her usual bite and retort. “Oh, are we defeated now? Going to visit your friend?”

“Nope.” She quickly laced up her shoes, slung the bag over her shoulder. Ignored the heat and weight of Molly’s assumptive stare. “Library, if you must know.”

“Oh, but your friend misses you, _Beau-re-gard~!_ ”

She ignored him, already trudging towards freedom as his laughter chased after her even as she slammed the door.

* * *

Fine.

So, yet another week to pass. Beau had gone out of her way to put as much space between her and Molly’s antics, between her and the tempting call of the Nook, as possible. Straight to the Academy’s heart, to its central library and community commons known as the Cobalt Reserve. It was a regal eight-story where the more staunch and bookish types tended to congregate on any given day, but it gave Beau some semblance of peace. Some quiet.

Quieter company, at least.

She’d happened upon Caleb that first day, had spotted him grabbing food from the Reserve’s cafeteria. She’d been quick to sneak up and wrap an arm around his shoulders, startling him enough to make him drop his sandwich.

He’d blinked at her when she laughed and bent to pick up his pitiful mush of cellophane, ham and cheese. _“Beauregard.”_

_“Caleb. Need a study buddy.”_

_“Oh. No, not particularly—”_

_“Yeah, that’s not a question.”_

He’d looked curious, sure. She made no secret of loathing her time in the Reserve, after all, but he’d accepted her company easily enough.

And it was nice.

Beau soon settled into a new afternoon routine with Caleb, following him to his preferred spot on the third floor. The pair of them claimed the same two armchairs pressed snuggly beside curved, iron railing. She made do with the impromptu shift from her preferred café surroundings to the old-world charm the Reserve provided. Grand, oak wood tables and study rooms sheathed in frosted glass, dangling lights and towering shelves loaded with every tome imaginable. It was easy for anyone to hide in whatever far corner they pleased. Beau would sit across from Caleb, her notes cluttering the table and her laptop glowing dimly as she attempted to write or study while Caleb ate his sandwiches and read.

Wonderful, reserved Caleb—he never questioned Beau’s sudden interest in tagging along. He had no need for prying into her business. She could be free of Molly and his growing collection of coffee cups, each illustrated with her name and set out blatantly for her to find. She could avoid Fjord’s casual insistence that she stop being a baby and just return to the Nook; surely her nerves were getting the best of her at this point?

Maybe they were. Beau was stubborn, if nothing else.

And it was fine. Really.

She grew used to her daily treks across campus, to Caleb waiting patiently for her on the cafeteria floor. She’d almost gotten a handle on her roaming thoughts whenever they did (inevitably) drift back to the Nook, to Lady Mystery and her spritely whims. Beau caught herself on those days she fantasized about that toothy grin, about those impossibly bright blues, about the delightful pop of color that seemed to follow Beau no matter what she did. Rather, Caleb would catch Beau daydreaming and snap her out of her thoughts with a soft, _“You’re doing it again.”_

_“Mm.”_

She’d rein it in.

And it was fine.

That lasted all of twelve days.

Day thirteen. A lazy Tuesday, and Beau was out of lecture early enough to beat Caleb to the library for once. She texted him to let him know as much, buying one of his beloved ham and cheese sandwiches to surprise him with once he finally got out of class. She’d even set it in his seat and everything, already settled at their usual spot and typing away by the time he arrived an uncharacteristic thirty minutes late. She was about to ask him what’d taken so long when she smelled it: Coffee, fresh and piping. Not the watered-down ilk they served downstairs, but a familiar, richer scent.

_No._

Beau looked up. Caleb was approaching with a tray of coffee. He’d barely set it down on the table when she spotted the drawings on both cups. On his, a crimson dragon with burnt orange scales, winding around his name in whimsical circles. On Beau’s, stars and swirling gusts of clouds in shimmering jade and silver. The barista’s fluffy handwriting, Beau and Caleb’s names etched out.

The A’s in Beau’s names were hearts, with a tiny ‘MISSING YOU’ written underneath in smaller rainbow print.

Her face simmered in an instant, her voice barely a whisper. “Why?”

Caleb had already turned to pick up the sandwich she’d bought him, hesitating the moment he heard her hushed tone. “Why…? I wanted coffee? It’d be rude not to get you one too, ja?”

“But from there?” It took everything in Beau not to let her dismay show too visibly. She was doing a poor job. “Why coffee from _there_?”

“Fjord recommended it,” Caleb replied simply, still confused. “He said it was your favorite… No?”

Oh, and he sounded so downright innocent as he asked, Beau couldn’t help but believe him.

He sat, looking apologetic, and started sliding the tray back towards himself. With a tinge of regret, Beau stopped him. She hooked her finger in one of the empty cup holders, shook her head at his look of concern. How would he know Fjord was just fucking with her?

She took a begrudging sip, soon relishing in the smooth hit of latte she’d been missing out on for the past few weeks. Caleb watched, cautiously picking up his own drink.

“Since when were you a coffee drinker?” Defeated, Beau softened. Only then did Caleb seem to relax enough to chance a sip, and Beau couldn’t fight back the slightest smile at how deeply he drank, how satisfied he seemed with the taste.

“Today, apparently,” he said with a delighted hum. Then, upon admiring the dragon on his cup with a studious eye. “Beautiful art.”

Beau traced the contours of her name, lingered on the ‘MISSING YOU.’ She could just imagine Lady Mystery’s chirping tone when Caleb placed the order.

She swallowed, chest aflutter despite herself. “Yeah.”

* * *

They were a good two weeks while they lasted, but Beau moved on yet again.

If Caleb was at all curious about her short-lived imposition or subsequent ghosting, he never said. He hadn’t mentioned the ‘MISSING YOU’ written plain as day on Beau’s cup, after all, even though it was impossible he’d have missed it. He’d probably sensed it was a touchy subject and took mercy, opting to leave it alone. Probably for the best. It would’ve been a matter of time before it came up in conversation.

So, yet another Wednesday. No café. No dorms. No libraries. No Fjord or Molly or Caleb to, intentionally or otherwise, remind her of the woman she couldn’t push out of her thoughts no matter how hard she tried. No more seeking refuge indoors; Beau settled for outside instead.

That led her to Caduceus and Yasha, to one of their meditation sessions.

Beau took up the bench before them, watching as they sat cross-legged in the grass and breathed in unison. A gentle in, then open-mouthed out. Their eyes closed; their fingers poised, index to thumb, above their knees. How simultaneously out of place and serene both her friends looked, meditating in front of the STEM center. The center was their preferred spot; it was one of the few buildings on campus with such a lovingly crafted terrace of trees, hedges, shrubbery, geometric paths. The building was made almost entirely of multicolored glass, stretching tall and reflecting the light in a way that made rainbows dance along the walkway, through the leaves. Every shadow was colorfully hypnotic.

As Beau admired the sight, she kept thinking of the barista’s delicate fingers at work. Rainbow sharpie trails beneath manicured fingertips, a gentle tinkling of bracelets.

Blue eyes in sharp focus.

_Missing you, Beau-re-gard~_

“You’re doing it again.”

Caduceus’ voice interrupted Beau’s daydream, prickled her thoughts. His eyes were still closed, his mouth a perfect O-shape as he released a steady breath.

Beau frowned, more at herself than at him, and dropped her gaze back to her computer. The same neglected rough draft she’d been squinting at stared defiantly back. She started typing. Backspacing. typing again, an irritated _tick-tack_ rhythm. “What?”

“Sighing,” Caduceus soothed, inhaling deeply. Pause. Exhale. His words were spaced between each breath. “What’s that about?”

“Just. Writing a paper, Cad.” _Tick-tack._

“You’re stressed,” he said. Inhale.

_Tick._

“She’s in love,” Yasha said. Exhale.

_Tack…_

Beau’s typing halted, just briefly, but it was enough for Caduceus to notice. Beau glanced up and caught the beginnings of a grin on Yasha’s lips.

Why, exactly, did Beau ever think her friends wouldn’t _talk_ so damn much behind her back?

She didn’t even have to wonder where Yasha had gotten her information, knowing full well that Molly often gossiped in the woman’s ear at every opportunity. Caduceus, however, seemed appropriately unaware.

He opened his eyes at Yasha’s response, looking at Beau with a curious warmth that made Beau’s irritation slowly shift to mild embarrassment. “Oh?”

“No,” Beau snipped, willing herself (failing) to focus on her essay. Strings of capitalized and bolded nonsense. “No, it’s not love. It’s not anything. Why does everyone keep making it a thing?”

“What’s her name?”

There was no saving her when Caduceus was so earnest. He broke pose and leaned back, palms pressed into the earth and an inquisitive expression on his face. Beau would have ignored it, if not for Yasha’s follow-up.

“It’s Jester.”

And perhaps it was the intensity of Beau’s sudden stare that made Yasha open her eyes. Or perhaps she’d been waiting for the moment of utmost dramatic impact . Perhaps she was simply making it up to see how Beau reacted. Whatever the case, her amusement was palpable.

Beau eyed Yasha in disbelief, watched as the woman leaned over and whispered in Caduceus’ ear. Unintelligible, though Beau could make out the words ‘crush’ and ‘coffeehouse.’ Caduceus gave an understanding nod and _ah-ha_ glance in Beau’s direction, his grin matching Yasha’s. “Well. That’s nice.”

Beau stared pointedly at Yasha. “How do you know that?”

“I know her roommate,” Yasha said.

Most definitely lying, but… No, there was a genuine air of confidence in the way Yasha said it, one Beau was hesitant to trust.

She couldn’t hide the hope bleeding into her tone. “Her roommate?”

A laugh. “Yes, Beau.”

Too good to be true, yet Yasha was looking at her as if more than happy to share. As if all Beau had to do was ask.

It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

Beau closed her laptop, bit her lower lip. Then, finally:

“Where?”

* * *

Opal Hall. A dormitory flooded by baby-faced freshmen, all bright-eyed and loud and far more energetic than Beau knew how to handle. She’d never lived there herself, having transferred to the Academy her sophomore year, but she’d spent enough time camped out in the surrounding food and student hubs to be familiar enough to find the Hall with ease.

She’d come alone. A choice she was still debating.

See, Beau ended up declining Yasha’s offer to introduce her to this mystery roommate – a less daunting bridge to Lady Mystery Girl herself – though she did ask for their room number. Sneaking inside was even simpler, what with the complete lack of regard for potential strangers trailing in after residents who swiped their keycards as required. Beau caught a few curious stares, sure; she’d essentially leapt into the nearest occupied elevator before it could close and leave her behind. Before she could change her mind.

But she was left alone, more or less.

Now she faced another dilemma: Walking down these blue and ivory halls, unsupervised and uncertain, wondering why the hell she’d even come here in the first place. What did she hope to accomplish, going straight to these people’s dorm? What would she even say once she got there?

_You’re just gonna say hi._

Sure. Simple.

Beau recalled the room number Yasha had given her, repeated it in her head in an effort to steady her nerves. Her footfalls fell heavy on the carpeted floor, each step growing shakier by the second.

Sixth floor, 6208.

Before long Beau was counting each door, each number aloud. Quietly. A mantra.

Six, two, zero, eight. Six, two, zero…

6208.

She found it all too soon.

Beau slowed her gait until she was mere inches away. There it was, a white door with the numbers emblazoned in crisp gray. Upon the door, a jumble of decorations, familiar drawings, construction paper letters in lemonade-bright pinks and yellows all pinned against corkboard:

NOTT & JESTER

Beau read the names, nervously grasped at the strap of her backpack.

She wasn’t ready for this.

 _Abort_ , she thought. _You absolute idiot. Quit while you’re ahead._

It’d be no different than her running away from the café. She’d just leave, go about the rest of her day as if she hadn’t skipped an entire class just to sate her curiosity. No need for further embarrassment, though she’d still be mentally kicking herself for even getting this far much later. She had just made the decision to leave when the door suddenly opened.

Beau froze.

Soft, yellow light and pop music spilled into the hall first. Then a startled noise, the voice’s owner bumping into Beau. Beau saw what looked like dirty laundry tumbling out of a mesh basket, and the person holding said basket looked at her with wide eyes, surprise shifting swiftly to irritation.

_Shit. Fuck. God, damn…_

Hazel eyes, though. Not the blues Beau expected. Darker skin and a plumper frame. Not the fluffy mop of dyed hair, but a rich and silky brown that draped into two loose braids. Beads and bangles, necklaces galore, all clicked together as the woman adjusted her emptied basket upright. She narrowed her eyes and started snatching up her fallen laundry. “Can I help you?”

It took Beau a minute to find her voice. She stammered, gave some half-excuse of being lost before bending down to help. “Sorry, I just—”

“Nott,” a singsong call from behind, the vowel drawn out. “Who’s at the door?”

Oh. No.

Lady Mystery. Jester, in the flesh.

She approached the door before Beau could process her sudden appearance, propping it open to inspect the fallen laundry and the stranger helping Nott pick it up. She looked at Nott, who had turned to utter some response Beau was suddenly too numb to hear. Then Jester and Beau’s eyes met.

Terrifyingly magnetic blue.

Recognition set in, Jester’s shock matching Beau’s for a mere moment before her expression melted into such unbridled glee, even Nott gave pause. Jester let out an almost maniacal laugh, pointing her finger directly at Beau. “ _You!_ ”

And in all her days – bless her soul – Beau had never dropped everything and darted away so fast.

There was no thought, just pure instinct. She heard Jester calling her name, heard the confusion in Nott’s voice as she asked _who-in-the-fuck_ this and _what-in-the-fuck_ that. Jester’s laughter and (worse, even _worse_ ) footsteps were following after Beau. “Hold on! Wait!”

Beau was faster.

She hoofed it to the emergency exit, her face boiling and heart thundering in time with her hurried footsteps. She kept that pace even after exploding onto the sidewalk and heading in whatever direction would take her furthest; it didn’t matter where. She kept running, unable to reconcile her utter panic with absolute exhilaration she’d felt when Jester called her name, over and over and…

Well.

So much for saying hi.

* * *

Where did that leave Beau, in the end?

Right back at the start.

Practically a month of self-denial and mishaps, of embarrassment flooding over her as memories of the entire ordeal replayed in her head at the most inopportune moments. She’d find herself going over her blunders during classes and study sessions, found herself plagued by her friends’ well-meaning but undesired inquiries into how things had gone with Jester. Each of them, in their own way, prodded Beau throughout the week that followed.

Fjord’s (gentle) and Molly’s (far less gentle) teasing. Caleb’s assurances that everyone had those moments. Caduceus’ wholesome praise of Beau putting herself out there, even if the results weren’t quite what she desired. Yasha’s quiet comforting and pats on the back.

And each of them, after genuinely falling in love with the Nestled Nook and starting to frequent the café when their schedules allowed, would mention that Jester was still asking about Beau.

Beau’s crush was no secret to anyone now.

A crush. Yes. She’d finally admit it.

Now she was back at the Nook.

Beau stood outside the entrance for a few minutes, letting others pass her by. Then she took a deep breath before pushing her way inside.

Fresh coffee, the scent of toasted bread. Some brassy, jazzy tune. Buzzing conversation and energy. Vibrant color, the same cartoon designs greeting her from every corner as she joined the line. It was busier than usual, but then again, she was here first thing in the morning versus her usual afternoon stint. There was an intensity in her movements as the line drew closer to the register, her focus on one thing.

She was going to introduce herself. Properly, this time. No need to order anything, no giving in to the urge to run away. She was just going to march right up and do it. For real.

She braced herself the moment the couple in front of her finished ordering and moved aside to continue their conversation. Beau stepped forward, opened her mouth—

“What can I get for you, hon?”

—and promptly closed it again, dismay overtaking her.

It wasn’t Jester that asked, but some other barista. Just as friendly, just a sweet. A short and freckled brown-skinned woman with white-blonde tresses cascading down her back. She beamed up at Beau, her fingers already poised on the register’s screen as she waited for Beau’s order.

Beau blinked, eyed the space beyond the counter. Two other staff members, a harried blonde and stout redhead, were prepping drinks and shuffling in and out of the backroom. Neither of them paid Beau any mind. Beau glanced down at the barista manning the register, eyed her name tag.

 _Reani_ , in shimmering gold.

Not Jester.

“Uh…” Beau had to stifle disappointment, ran fingers over her mouth as she eyed the chalkboard menu and pretended to contemplate her options. “Double shot latte. Medium.”

“Double shot,” Reani chirped, punching it in. She plucked a cup from the dwindling tower to her right, uncapped the golden sharpie Beau didn’t realize was in her other hand until just now. “A name for your order, please?”

“…Beauregard.”

If Reani noticed the deadpan tone in Beau’s voice, she didn’t let on. She simply wrote Beau’s name with the same eager smile. “That’ll be right up, hon.”

Beau didn’t even bother with a thank you.

She waited despondently for her drink, examining every inch of the café for any sight of Jester she may have missed – but Jester simply wasn’t there, it seemed. Before long, Beau received her drink and went to sulk outside. She didn’t have it in her to go too far, settling at one of the outdoor tables instead.

Why now, when Beau was ready, did the universe decide to punish her further? Maybe it was par the course for not heeding Fjord’s advice in the first place. She’d had so many opportunities. There’d be other days to come back and try again, sure, but _today_ was the day that she’d finally worked up the nerve. Today, of all days.

Beau sighed and slumped back in her chair, took a small sip of her drink. _Doesn’t even taste as good…_

“Oh, hi there.”

She paused as a familiar, feathery voice drifted into her ear.

To her right, leaning onto the table, was Jester. Blue hair loose and windswept, silver earrings jingling as she shook bangs from her eyes. Her expression was pure sunshine when noted the relieved-turned-anxious look on Beau’s face. She eased a pink purse onto the table and hopped into the seat across from Beau.

Beau was still playing catch up, half-afraid she was imagining things. “H…hi.”

“You ran away from me.” There was no accusation, just an amused matter-of-fact. She was already pulling out a sketchbook from her purse, making herself well at home at Beau’s table.

Beau couldn’t help but laugh, sheepishly running a hand across the back of her neck. “Yeah… Yeah, I kinda did.”

“But you’re back. So that’s good.”

“You’re not, um… You’re not working today?”

“Nope. Took the day off. Just for funsies, you know?” She was sketching now, in bright blue pen. All the same ease and confidence she used for her coffee cup doodles, though this drawing was more realistic than Beau was used to witnessing. Jester looked up as she drew, blatantly studying Beau’s face, outlining its contours. “If I had _known_ you were going to visit me today, though—”

“Is your name really Jester?” Beau blurted it out before she could stop herself, eliciting a laugh.

“No, but that’s what my friends call me.”

“Ah.” Beau let that sink in. She straightened up in her seat. “Beau.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of Beauregard. Friends just call me Beau.”

There was still no getting used to how consistently that dimpled smile set Beau’s heart alight—but it was much easier, now that the ice was broken. Now that the reality of this moment set in.

“Well, Beau.” Jester stopped sketching and held out her hand, enunciating Beau’s name as if savoring a piece of candy. “I guess we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Beau, her nervousness now completely faded, the same warmth and confidence melting into her voice—she took Jester’s hand and shook it. “Yes, I guess we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, loves! I hope you enjoyed as much as I did writing it. Happy Belated Valentines! ♥


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